Savage: A Rockstar Romance (The Rock Legend Series Book 1)

by L. V. Lewis

  She caresses my cheek, her eyes going softer. “I know… I can feel your pain.”

  I close my eyes to shield myself from the sadness I see in her eyes. “I haven’t shared it with you in words. Aren’t you just a little bit curious about my past?”

  She nods. “Yes, of course, but you’ll share the details, when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.” She leans over the tiny table and kisses my cheek softly.

  Defiant, I reply, “You may want to when you get to know the real me.”

  Anger flashes in her eyes. “Stop it! Stop trying to warn me away from you, Brody. It’s not working.” She sucks in her breath. “Being with you has awakened things in me I didn’t think I’d ever feel.”

  I open my eyes and tears well up in the corners of them. Where the fuck did they come from? “I don’t know how to make this work between us without breaking you, maybe myself, too.”

  “Do you want things to work between us? I mean, outside of this—arrangement we have?” She asks in a soft and hopeful kind of way.

  I look away before responding. “What I want and what will ultimately happen are two entirely separate things,” I rasp, quiet but sharp with implication. “Being with you the last three weeks, and making love to you has shown me just how fucking impossible it’s going to be to let you go at the end of the tour.”

  She gasps. “Who says you have to let me go at the end of the tour?”

  For the first time in a long time I feel hopeful. If Sky is willing to strip herself down, and become vulnerable for me, it’s the least I can do for her.

  I sit up straight so I can explain things better. “I promised myself I wouldn’t seduce you when I came on board, but now that we have been together, I don’t think I can stay away, not while we’re in all of these romantic cities together.”

  She smiles. “Then I guess LA will be the real test of our longevity.”

  Sky is relentlessly optimistic, and I know I can never tire of her lovely smile—of making love to her, but it’s highly unlikely I’ll be a permanent fixture in her life—or at least in it long enough to test out that theory once she finally learns the truth—the real truth.

  We take an after-dinner stroll on the Champs Elysees, first holding hands, then linking arms as if we are joined at the hip. Seeing other couples embracing and kissing unabashedly leads us to do the same, and soon the melancholy that gripped me at the restaurant is forgotten.

  NINE

  SKYLAR

  DAY TWENTY-THREE

  Brody has made this tour the best one ever. Exploring the cities together has been the most fun I’ve ever had, other than when I first began my music career. Not only has he made my work life easier by day, he’s also made my personal life exceptional by night.

  We are on our way to my next tour stop—Madrid, Spain. Alyssa and I are seated together on the plane with Brody and Malik across the aisle from us.

  We’ve completed the London, Paris, and Berlin concerts. Alyssa shows me a tiny reference about Brody and me in one of the gossip rags. Some douchebag reporter is forecasting that sales won’t be as high during the last leg of the tour because I’m supposedly not “on my A game.”

  The article goes on to say: “Skylar has been spotted in London and Paris, canoodling with a gentleman suitor, whom we have been unable to identify.”

  I arch my brow and turn toward Alyssa. “Why do gossip magazines love using the word ‘canoodling’ to describe celebrities getting cozy with someone of the opposite sex?”

  She shrugs. “Because they think you’re kissing and cuddling so amorously, it’s newsworthy or some shit. Canoodling means you’re probably banging.”

  I nod. We are always on the same page. “You are so right!”

  Alyssa tosses her natural curls back. “You know I know best most of the time. Experience is a bitch. I’ve been accused of that exact thing numerous times,” she says. “And, well, I looked that shit up.” She laughs and I laugh too.

  I give her the side eye. “Hmm… so, who have you been accused of canoodling with?”

  She ticks them off on her fingers. “Randall, the R&B singer, Corey Main, the country singer… oh, and Princess Danai, the rapper.” She smiles and winks.

  My eyes widen in shock. “Princess Danai is a woman, right?”

  Alyssa places her finger to her mouth and does the hush gesture. “Yeah, but gossip rags are equal opportunity dirt diggers.”

  We both laugh.

  Alyssa is twenty-two, and she’s been my friend since our television days together. But I can’t for the life of me understand why her career hasn’t taken off. She has an amazing voice. Her agent told her it’s because she’s opening for me, and not pairing herself up with a fresh and hot hip-hop group or R&B singer. In response to this slight, she told her agent to “go fuck himself” and leave her alone, unless he wanted to be out of a damn job.

  The thing of I love most about Alyssa is that she is fiercely loyal to me.

  Changing the subject, she says, “So what’s Mama Samuelson got to say about this new press development in ‘Days of Sky’s Lives’?”

  I laugh. She loves her soap operas. Drama. “Well, she’s livid, of course.”

  Alyssa nods. “Of course.”

  I roll my eyes. Just thinking about my mother’s reactions causes my blood pressure to rise. “She accused me of allowing a tawdry affair with a nobody to purposefully damage my reputation irreparably.”

  Alyssa’s mouth drops open in shock. “As opposed to what? Reparably? Wow. That’s harsh.”

  I pause and then respond, “I don’t know. Mother can’t abide scandal, even though my PR firm has told her a million times that good press and bad press are equally good for a celebrity’s career.”

  “I told you, your mama’s a cock blocker.” She leans in close to my ear. “Speaking of cock…” she says in a much quieter voice, “How is Brody of-the-bluest-blue-eyes-I’ve-ever-seen Kent in bed?”

  I suck in a breath to imply that I’m scandalized. I’m not.

  I give her a tiny crooked smile, then she says, “On a scale of one-to-ten, just flash me some digits, girl.”

  I hold up ten fingers, and then quickly flash five more.

  Alyssa screams like a sorority girl.

  Cringing, I slap my hand over her mouth.

  Malik and Brody turn simultaneously toward the scream, their eyes questioning.

  I wave them off. “We’re okay,” I say loud enough for them and the flight attendant coming our way to hear me. “Nothing to see over here.”

  Alyssa pries my hand away and gives me the death glare. “If your clammy hands have fucked up my makeup, Sky…” She reaches into her purse, probably for her compact.

  “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, girlfriend, but you were causing a scene.”

  She looks at me and laughs. “Your face is red as hell.”

  She eyes herself in the mirror, turning her face to and fro. “No irreparable damage done, so I guess you can live.” She laughs again, and I remember she’s taking a swipe at my mother’s words, and I laugh too.

  When we recover from this new fit of laughter, I share more of my mother’s words, using her voice. “The repercussions are going to be far-reaching, young lady. You mark my words.”

  “They are certainly going to be far-reaching, because Brody’s going to keep putting that number fifteen thang on you for the next four weeks.” I nod and we high-five.

  We laugh so hard tears start streaming down our flushed faces.

  Brody and Malik stare at us with clueless expressions.

  “My mother has always had a flair for the dramatic,” I say. I stop abruptly and shake my head. “Surely my fans don’t expect me to never have a private life. Do they?”

  Alyssa waves my fears away. “Oh, they’ll get over it. It’s your Mama I’m worried about.”

  Brody and I decide not to go sightseeing alone in Madrid. We beg Malik and Alyssa to come with us when we go out. We’re also very careful not to display
a lot of PDA. I wear my “Skylar Face,” because there’s no point in being discreet. The tabloids now have a relatively clear shot of me sans “The Face,” and I want that shot buried so deep in their archives they’ll never find it again.

  This time, we have four days before the show, so we go out the first day and a half frequenting local haunts, but we stay away from the trendier bars and restaurants, which are more likely to have paparazzi camping out at them. Other places back home try to imitate them, but there’s nothing like the tapas in Spain. I have my fill of them because I know my choreographer, who flies in at my request, will work the rich food I’ve been consuming right off my thighs.

  I need different movements and staging to make the live concert fresh for this new audience and the multiple media outlets following us. I’m finally getting the new routine down when Brody teleconferences me with the marketing team in tow. He wants to work on some new print ads and commercials. Brody is extremely good at his job because he knows the business intimately.

  He finds me later and he flashes me an ambivalent smile. I take a break from the choreography as he approaches me.

  “Guess what?” he says.

  “What?” I inquire quickly, unable to resist asking.

  He grins like I’m the best thing in the world—and I am, but that’s beside the point.

  “You’ll never guess who your mother’s managed to snag for your last three concerts,” he says.

  I’m really curious now. “Who?”

  “Pit Viper,” he says. He starts to do a little jig, complete with his own made-up beat.

  Stunned by my mother’s ingenuity, I ask, “How on earth did she manage that?” Pit Viper is a premier guitarist and the front man of The Snakes, a rock band from Sydney, Australia. My sales would skyrocket with him on my ticket.

  He shrugs. “Connections, I suppose.”

  My excitement diminishes once my current guitarist pops in my mind. “Wait… what are we going to do with Nick?”

  He shrugs again. “I don’t know. She says he’s to sit the Madrid, Rome, and Athens concerts out.”

  My eyes widen in horror. “Oh my God! He’s going to flip his shit. He may even walk. And for what? A chance for Pit Viper to perform at three of my shows?”

  Brody nods, empathetically. “I get her reasoning behind this. It’s not the first time a pop singer has asked a rocker to play with their band. Michael Jackson invited Slash to play on his Dangerous album.”

  I love how Brody plays devil’s advocate and supports my mother’s side of things. At the same time, I know she’s up to more than just hiring Pit Viper to boost my sales on this European tour. My mother doesn’t make changes to my band like that without having something up her sleeve. In fact, the last time she pulled something like this, she cleaned house. It took me months to audition and hire new people. That’s not going to happen again. I’m going to call her first chance I get and find out what the hell she’s up to.

  “If the King of Pop, God rest his soul, used a rocker successfully, then I suppose the Queen of Pop can do the same thing,” I say with a smile.

  “Oh, and I forgot to mention that your mother is flying in Friday morning for the Friday night show,” Brody yells, as he backs away.

  “What the fuck?” Everybody in the room stops and looks at me. I understand why. I rarely curse at random.

  Brody is in stitches and his shoulders are visibly shaking as he walks away.

  Cyndi, the choreographer—or maybe I should call her “slave driver”—calls the dancers and me back to work.

  I return to the hotel after the first grueling day of practice, sweaty, gross, and irritable. I don’t really want to go out because I’m tired. All I really want to do is take a long, hot shower, have Brody fuck my brains out, take another long, hot shower, and fall into bed.

  Scrubbed clean, I cross the threshold of my suite and head directly for Brody’s, but when I enter his bedroom, he’s hunched over his MacBook working. Damn!

  I sneak up behind him and kiss him on his neck. I try to entice him, but he’s too preoccupied with his laptop to notice. Double-Damn!

  Bored, I peer over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

  “Writing a song.” He then goes to elaborate lengths to shield it from me, even holding his oversized palm across the screen.

  I frown. “Why don’t you want me to see it?”

  He looks up from the screen and shrugs. “Because it’s not finished. And it might be something for you.”

  I grin. “Oh yeah?”

  He grins back. “Yeah.”

  “How much longer are you going to be?”

  “Maybe another hour. Then we need to get ready to go out to dinner. There’s another surprise waiting for you at dinner,” he says cryptically.

  “Do we have to go out to dinner?” I grind out in a mulish protest.

  He flashes me a pained grimace. “Yeah, we sort of do. It’s a P.R. thing.”

  I huff like a spoiled brat. “Well, I’m going to take a nap first, and I won’t be upset if you forget to wake me.”

  I return to my own bedroom and climb in bed. I don’t bother to set the alarm.

  I sleep hard, and before I know it, Brody is shaking me awake. I practically bite his head off. “Couldn’t you just let me sleep a little while longer? Good God!”

  He recoils as if I’ve struck him, and I see the hurt in his eyes as he straightens up. Always the consummate professional.

  “The P.R. Company set this dinner up, Skylar. You’ve got to meet Pit Viper tonight, and there will be photo ops for the advertising stills.”

  He never calls me Skylar. I fear he’s doing it purposely to distance himself from me, because I snapped at him. “I’ll give you some space, so you can get dressed.” He abruptly turns to leave.

  Remorseful for taking out my frustrations on him, I hop out of bed, and run to block his exit. “Brody, please forgive me. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I’m just so tired.”

  I throw my arms around him, and pull him close to me. “This tour is exhausting, and I’m really worried that my mother is up to something with the band. The last time she made changes like this behind my back, I was a minor, and she had more control.”

  He gently pushes me away from him and holds me at arm’s length. “You’re an adult now, Sky. If you want to take creative and business control of your own career, you can do that. Nobody’s stopping you.”

  “Nobody but me,” I say, defeated.

  He looks at me with confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “On some level, I suppose I’ve let my mother have control of everything because I’ve never really wanted it. Don’t get me wrong, I love the artistic stuff but the business part of it doesn’t really interest me. Not one bit.”

  He frowns and rubs my shoulder. “Well, that’s unfortunate because you have the most to lose. You need to be the adult and own this. And, personally, I think you should take a little of it at a time, until you can handle it on your own.”

  I nod in agreement. Brody is so smart and music business savvy. “I know.”

  “You also need to pay attention, because your mother’s not going to always be around. A manager more insidious than your mother could someday take you for everything you’ve got and you’d be none the wiser.”

  I kiss him on the cheek. “I promise, I’m going to start paying attention, and stand up to her. I promise.”

  “How?” he asks. He’s not buying it.

  “Well, first off, I’m going to let Nick play backup on the electric or acoustic. He’s not sitting the next three concerts out, that is for sure. He’s been too loyal to me to push him aside.”

  Brody smiles. “That’s exactly what I would do.”

  “And I’m going to figure out why my mother is coming here all of a sudden,” I say, my courage building.

  “I think I know why,” Brody says.

  I grit my teeth. “Why?”

  “She’s trying to push me into perform
ing on stage with you.”

  “Did she tell you that when you talked to her?”

  “Well, not in so many words, but she’s sending Pit Viper, a rock star, here to either send me a message or appeal to my vanity. But it’s not going to work because she has no idea what really motivates me.”

  “But you did say that this is a good move, because the King of Pop did it.”

  “And I meant it. It is a good move, but we’re going to make whatever scheme your mother is planning backfire on her. So get dressed and we’ll meet outside our suites in thirty minutes.”

  Brody’s look of determination inspires me. I want to be stronger and better in business because of him. Plus, I knew without a doubt after I snapped at him, and I saw how dejected he was, that I loved him. Although I need to tell him, soon, right now saving my tour is top priority.

  Plus, I love the idea of making my mother’s scheme backfire on her.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be ready.”

  TEN

  BRODY

  “Are you sure you’re not still miffed at me?” Sky whispers, bringing me out of my head as we wend our way through the evening Madrid traffic.

  We’re on our way to meet Pit Viper at the restaurant, and I’m quiet because I’m afraid the guy will recognize me. We met a couple of times when The Savages opened for his band, The Snakes, back in the day. We went on to surpass The Snakes, of course, and afterward he no longer wanted anything to do with us. To make peace, the label suggested they open for us, and Pit Viper responded by saying, “The Snakes will open for this motherfucking junkie over my fucking dead body.”

  Of course, I look nothing now like the skinny, overly confident kid he’d met before—the one who’d already developed a formidable drug habit. Cocaine, ecstasy, and occasionally mollies. I was so physically exhausted from performing during that time that I can truly identify with Sky’s plight. The more I worked, the more exhausted I became and the more drugs I used. It was a vicious, never-ending cycle.